


Kame's Story

by WhiteLadyDragon



Series: Powerful Under the Edge [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Autistic Character, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Dubious Morality, Emotional Manipulation, Existential Crisis, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, LGBTQ Female Character of Color, Loneliness, Medical Experimentation, Mind Games, One-Sided Attraction, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Psychological Drama, Secrets, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29855271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteLadyDragon/pseuds/WhiteLadyDragon
Summary: She’s just the janitor cleaning up everyone’s messes at home while they get to go on all the adventures. She is, at best, a beam under the floor that holds up the house. Or is that still taking too much credit?An anthology of drabbles capturing moments from Aina's story.DISCLAIMER! Except for Aina and other original characters, all featured or mentioned fictional entities are from Masashi Kishimoto's manga series Naruto and Boruto. This fan fiction is written purely for entertainment and generates no profit whatsoever.
Relationships: Orochimaru (Naruto)/Original Female Character(s), Tsunade (Naruto)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Powerful Under the Edge [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194965
Kudos: 2





	1. Late For Marriage

**Author's Note:**

> At the advice of a friend, I have decided to organize all the drabbles I've written on Tumblr regarding my OC and muse, Aina "Kame" Kichida. These will be organized in chronological order with respect to the storyline, not by time of posting...if that makes sense. I imagine more tags will be added as the anthology expands, but I will try not to tag characters gratuitously. 
> 
> Collection based on the masterlist from my roleplay blog: https://super-kame-love.tumblr.com/drabbles
> 
> For more in-depth information on Aina and her biography, see her article: https://narutooriginals.fandom.com/wiki/Aina_Kichida

“It’s unfair! Unfair!” slurs Shizune with a pout, leaning across the table to ogle at Kurenai’s ample bust with a slight flush to her cheeks. “You’re so lucky! Gorgeous, with a great sense of style to boot!” 

She’s not wrong. Kurenai _is_ certainly blessed in all these ways, and then some. 

Normally, Shizune is much more collected, but is it really that surprising? It’s only natural that she’d want to cut loose when Tsunade isn’t around. It gets so tiring minding someone who can barely mind themselves. 

She keeps the cup up to her lips just to have something to do with her hands and mouth, unable to shake the feeling that she shouldn’t be listening to this conversation even if she was invited here. Next to her, Anko has her feet up on the table, tilting so far back in her chair until only the back two legs of it are touching the ground. She keeps her balance on her heels and calves while lazily sipping on a cup of bed bean soup she’d smuggled in here with her coat, but no one says a word about it. The point is to have a good time. 

The ceramic cup feels too small in Aina’s hands. Or are her hands just too big? She doesn’t drink the _sake_ so much as she slurps it only to quietly spit it back out into the sides of the cup, mimicking the rhythm and splash of the tides against her lips. 

Kurenai frowns. “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink…”

That’s peculiar to hear from Kurenai, who could outdrink all of them if only she wanted. Someone who can eat as much wasabi as she does is not one to be trifled with. 

“ _Sooooo_ , how is’e?” 

Kurenai puts up her silk-wrapped hands as if putting up a shield against Shizune’s intrusion. “Who?”

“ _Asuma_ , silly!” blurts Shizune with a broad, dizzy grin plastered on her face. “Who else would I mean? C’mon, what’s ‘e like?” 

Kurenai’s red, ringed eyes self-consciously dart towards her own left shoulder as her fair cheeks flush pink. “I-I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about…”

“ _Awww_ , look! You’re blushing!” Shizune flicks the tip of Kurenai’s nose. 

Anko is more blunt. She pauses her eating and offers clarification with her own teasing smirk: “Y’mean like how is he in bed?”

“Anko!” scolds one and squeals the other. 

Anko shrugs. “What? I don’t care what you two get up to, personally. It’s Shizune who’s dying to know.” She tucks her cup into the folds of her coat upon catching a waiter passing by from the corner of her eye. 

Aina lowers the cup to the table and stares at her scrunched, rippling reflection. Tsunade isn’t with them tonight. Is that because she knew Aina would be coming along? Ever since their night out together two weeks ago…

Whatever had been meant by the question, it is dropped as Shizune flops back into her seat. “I am _soooo_ jealous! I’m stuck with Lady Tsunade all day. It sucks!” 

“How? I would think it was an honor to serve Lady Tsunade,” says Kurenai. “And it’s an important job.”

“Oh, I know, I know,” slurs Shizune with a dismissive flap of her hand. “We’ve been all over the world an’ helped a whole lotta people. All well an’ good! Butcha know…she ain’t exactly a dream to work with! I’m always cleanin’ up her messes an’ pickin’ up her slack on the paperwork; you don’ know what it’s like!” 

_I…reck’n I do know, act’lly,_ muses Aina, closing her eyes to see Mama’s glazed sunken eyes fixed on the tunnel between life and death. 

“An’ ‘cause I’m always looking after her, I don’t get time to go out an’ meet someone nice. All the guys I’ve ever seen when I’m with her were scumbags! Wackos, freaks and losers like you wouldn’ b’lieve!” She throws her hands up towards the ceiling and clenches them into half-fists. 

Aina dribbles _sake_ down her chin. It takes her longer than it should to get the mind to put down the cup and wipe up the mess with her forearm. 

Does Shizune count Orochimaru as one of said scumbags she’s met? 

(A stupid question. Of course, she does.)

“ _Ohhhh_ man! At this rate, I’m gonna miss my chance to get married like Lady Tsunade did!” Shizune whines, ruffling her own short dark hair. “I don’ wanna end up a pathetic old spinster like her!” 

Aina jolts upward like she’s just taken a needle through her chest. Her jaw locks. Soon the night will be over and she’ll have to go back to that dark empty house on the edge of the fields that she calls “home.” She doesn’t belong here. She’s not sure she even exists when their eyes have flickered on and off her since they’d sat down. But she can stand the silence and the cold even less. 

Of all the things they have to talk about, why did it have to be _that?_ She should change the subject, but she’s drawing a blank. It’s not polite to interject with one thing when everyone is talking about something else. 

No. What she really wants to say is forbidden. She shuts her eyes and sees Tsunade’s fair cheeks flushed with alcohol and embarrassment, her rich brown eyes widening in shock, just like they had when she…

“Aw, what’s the big deal about marriage, anyway?” snorts Anko, wiping her mouth on her hand. “If men’re gonna get hung up on crap like your age or your assets, then who needs ‘em?” 

“That’s a good point,” concedes Kurenai, relieved to have the subject changed from her relationship. “But does that mean you’d never want to get married?” 

Aina’s feet itch and burn inside her boots. She’d take the boots off, but you’re supposed to keep shoes on when you’re indoors. This pub only has indoor seating. Around her, the room buzzes with conversation. Even if it’s quieter tonight, the noise nips at her skin like mosquitoes in summer. 

“I dunno, it just seems to be more trouble than it’s worth. _Maybe_ I’ll change my mind if I find someone who can keep up with me, but I’m not gonna waste time or energy worrying about it, in the meantime. Whatever happens, happens. Until then, I’m going hog-wild!” Anko announces, crushing the plastic cup in her fist after draining it. “And so should you guys!” 

For a split second, bile bubbles up Aina’s tightened throat. Anko is alone, too. But she’s okay with it. She enjoys it, even. She shouldn’t begrudge her for that. She oughtn’t begrudge her for any reason. They’re supposed to be friends. But…

How does she do it? Or is she just putting on a show like Jiraiya had on that date at Teuchi’s ramen stand? 

Shizune rests her jaw in her hand. “Ah, y’know, you’re not so bad a catch, either, Anko. If you just weren’t so crazy and bloodthirsty, you’d prob’ly get asked out more often.” 

“Hmph! As if I’d ever wanna change _that._ ” 

Something inside snaps when Kurenai finally turns to her, eyebrows knit together, and says, “Kame? Are you okay?”

All three of them jump as Aina shoots out of her seat, knocking her chair to the floor. Anko crashes to the floor but quickly recovers, placing the chair facing away from the table so she can sit astride it, resting her arms and chin on the back of the chair. 

The _sake_ forgotten, she leaps around to Shizune’s side of the table, gets on her knees, and grabs her free hand in both of hers, pulling a yelp from the other that makes her cringe. 

Her breath growing labored, two words burst out of her: “Marry me!” 

Shizune, dazed with alcohol and shock, doesn’t move. She stares down at her like there are lobsters crawling out of her big ears. “Wh-wha–?” 

“Marry me! Marry me, Shizune!” 

She can feel Kurenai and Anko staring down at her, neither of them sure of what’s happening or what to do about it. 

“Wh-wh-what’s gott’n into you, Kame?” 

“I–I ain’t gonna hear no more talk ‘bout bein’ lonely! Y’might’s well be talkin’ ‘bout dyin’! We spend all this time carin’ ‘bout other people like we’re s’posed to…an’ this’s th’ thanks we get for it? They leave us t’ _die?_ Well, I ain’t havin’ none of it! Anko’s right! Wh-who needs men after all? You wanna get married, _I_ wanna get married, so–s-s-so let’s do it, awready! Please! Please, we can move into my farm t’gether an’ then we’ll never ever be alone again!” she cries, her voice cracking. 

Shizune blinks hard, her dark eyes remaining wide and her cheeks flushed. She tries to break out of her grasp, but the more she squirms, the tighter Aina clutches her. “But I don’t…no! W-women can’t get married! And I don’t, I don’t like women! I like _men!”_

“ _No ya don’t!_ ” snaps Aina. “If you really liked men that much then w-why ain’cha found one yet?” 

“Aina, let go of me!” 

“Y’could if y’really wanted to! B-but you won’t! Y-you done been sayin’ how pretty Kurenai-n-Anko are all night, a-a-an’ y’spend all that time with Tsunade! That ain’t all jus’ ‘cause’a your job! It _can’t_ be!” 

“I said _let go!_ ” 

Shizune, always stronger than she appears, rips her hand out from hers, sending Aina to land on the floor with a thud. From down here, everyone towers over her, their disbelieving gazes raining down on her like embers. 

Shizune is drunk. Aina, however, has no such excuse. She should have learned her lesson about honesty when Tsunade turned away from her. 

_“Wait. I-I thought you liked men?”_

_“I…ah…I do like men! I-i-it’s jus’ that I, ah, I…I like ladies, too. L-ladies like you. I like you, Tsunade. I like you a whole awful lot! I like you enough t’ kiss you! I–I reckon I love you, even!”_

But she’s an idiot. An idiot and other things. She’s exposed herself again and they don’t like what they see. She shouldn’t have come out with them tonight. They surely would have had more fun with Tsunade. Now she’s gone and ruined the whole evening. Perhaps it won’t be long before they stop being her friends, too? 

“Wh-what the hell’s _your_ problem?” sputters Anko, her question cutting sharp in Aina’s ears like the knives she’s so fond of. “You don’t say one word the whole night and now–”

“Enough,” Kurenai cuts in, passing a glance at someone Aina can’t see. Possibly a server or the manager. Not that she can see much of anything. The room has plunged beneath a veil of tears. “I think we’d better call it a night. Anko, you can walk Shizune home. Come on, Kame…”

What should be a kind gesture has morphed into danger, her wrapped hand coming down on her like a white flame. Rattling her head, Aina ducks away, swatting her back with her own hand. 

Just moments ago, she’d ached to have them look at her. Now they are, and it’s agony. Why is she like this? She’d promised Mama she’d be strong and she’s already crumbling. 

With a sob, she crawls away from them as quickly as she can, grabbing to the first object to come into view to hoist herself upward–the fence lining the walkway towards the door–before breaking into a run, Kurenai’s call of her nickname drowning in the din of the nightlife behind her. 


	2. Green

Aina remains stone silent as Kurenai calls out her nickname from around the front of the house. She can’t even find the will to get up from under the shade of the plum tree. She stays flat on her back with arms spread out, letting the grass caress her skin. Up until the intrusion, she had been imagining the grass blades to be Mama’s fingers, the harvested branches of the tree as Papa’s arms shielding her from the sun’s overbearing rays. 

She would hope they were here in spirit. She’d scattered some of their ashes around this tree. Before the intrusion, she had been meditating on becoming one with the earth as they had. 

All she can manage is a twist of her neck and blink of her eyes to peer up at her visitor, whose blouse drapes over her slender form in layers like red and white rose petals with black thorns interspersed between them. Kurenai is a lot like a rose: soft and elegant, but firm and thorny at her stem. 

She must have bypassed the fence and gate. Of course she could. 

“Hey, Kame,” says Kurenai with a rare unsure twitch of her mouth and a wave of her hand, creamy and wrapped in silk bandages with nails painted as crimson as her lips and eyes. “You didn’t answer when I knocked, though I could sense you were still here. Figures you’d be in your garden. I…see you’re enjoying the shade. Mind if I join you for a bit?” 

Yes? No? She can’t choose. She wants to both pull her close and see her go away. She answers with a blank stare. 

After a moment of awkward silence, Kurenai walks to her and plants herself in the grass on her right, taking her silence for permission. “I came by to check on you.” 

Even after what’d happened at the Academy yesterday with her and Hinata? Aina is still trying to process the notion of anyone coming all the way out here to begin with, never mind Kurenai. Why is she here? 

Shouldn’t she be at work? Training her students? Canoodling with Asuma? How is it that Kurenai can suddenly make time to see her but Anko can’t? 

Aina doesn’t ask, though. She says nothing at all. Her mind is as blue and washed out as the sky above them, her nose just beginning to clear and her eyes red and itchy with dried salt. Beyond the fence, birds chirp to each other in beckoning. 

Kurenai stretches one of her toned, creamy legs out in front of her. The other, she keeps drawn to her as she glances around. In another life, maybe she could have been a world-renowned geisha? 

“You’ve got a lovely garden, Kame. I can only imagine all the time and sweat you’ve poured into it.” Her ringed eyes roll up to regard the branches of the tree. “This tree is impressive, too! Plum, right? For protection, good fortune and longevity…” 

The tree is as old as Aina. Mama and Papa had planted it just after she was born, feeding it with the afterbirth. Their blood runs through this tree. 

It’s little wonder Kurenai is struggling to find the words to say. It’s been so long since Aina got like this where everyone could see. 

“Something’s been bothering you, lately, huh? You look like you’ve been crying. You…want to talk about it?” 

…

Kurenai frowns. “It’s okay to tell me, Kame. I promise I won’t judge.” 

That’s a lie. Maybe Kurenai doesn’t realize it, but it’s a lie. Everyone judges whether they mean to or not. Even she. Still, Aina’s chest aches to have at least _some_ of the invisible weight lifted off it. Kurenai won’t leave unless she talks, besides. She is unyielding. 

Aina’s next few breaths are shaky and deep as she reaches up her left forearm to rub her eyes against it. As the words churn out, she keeps her arm draped over her eyes. “I…I don’ know what I’m doin’, anymore,” she says with a sniff, her voice low and rusty-tasting in her throat. “I don’ know what I’m doin’ with my life. Couldn’ keep Mama alive…couldn’ keep Sasuke here…an’ now Tsunade don’ want nothin’ t’ do with me…”

And after what she’d done two nights ago, Shizune probably won’t want to see her again, either. 

“Huh? Are you talking about what happened yesterday? Lady Tsunade didn’t _fire_ you. She just sent you home early. You were…”

Terrible. Crazy. Ugly. 

“…you weren’t acting like yourself. You looked like you weren’t feeling well. So she figured you needed a break. Unless, that’s not what you’re talking about…”

“Ah…me an’ Tsunade…w-we ain’t been gettin’ along lately.” 

“May I ask why?” 

Maybe it was inevitable she should ask? With the way they’ve been avoiding each other, the others were bound to notice something amiss. They’ve just been keeping their thoughts about it to themselves. It’s impolite to get involved in other people’s private business. That is, unless you’ve been paid to do so. 

Aina’s heart skips and sprains itself. She closes her eyes and sees Tsunade’s rich brown eyes staring wide back at her in shock. She prays Kurenai cannot read her. 

“I don’ like how she’s trainin’ Sakura…she’s bein’ too too too hard on ‘er.” 

Not a lie, technically. They _have_ quarreled over this. She’d caught Sakura sparring with her with one arm dangling limp at the shoulder like all the bones inside it had melted. The determined grimace on Sakura’s dirty face as she lunged at her master through the pain–that is, before Aina had dashed in between them and forced them to stop mid-strike–had all but broken her heart. 

Was this not what they all wanted? 

“I mean, A-Asuma don’ beat up on Ino like that, does ‘e? An’ Guy don’ beat up Tenten like that, does ‘e? A-an’ you don’ do that t’ Hinata, do you…?” 

Kurenai glances at her bare left shoulder, not unlike how she’d done when Shizune had asked her, her lips and curiosity let loose with a few bottles of _sake_ , about her intimacy with Asuma. “Er…well, actually…”

Aina springs up from the waist like a triggered trap. “ _What!?_ You, too? Y-you breakin’ all _her_ bones, too? M-m-makin’ Hinata fight with broke bones? How _could_ you?” 

“No, Kame, I’m not–it’s not like I _enjoy_ it–er, not that Lady Tsunade…ugh!” Kurenai, hands raised as if to shield her, sighs. “I mean, I may not approach it with quite the same _intensity_ that Lady Tsunade does. After all, I’m not a medic, so I couldn’t get away with it as easily even if I wanted to. But at the same time, I can’t keep going easy on Hinata forever. That would be a grave disservice to her. I have the same expectation for Hinata that I do for Kiba and Shino–to become capable shinobi who can carry the torch I’ll eventually have to pass to them–so I need to treat her like it. 

“You’re not a shinobi, so it makes sense that you’d find it hard to understand…” 

Aina watches a leaf drift down to land on her lap as she waits for the scorching bile to bubble back down from her throat. She swallows twice. 

“…but the point of being a sensei is to make sure, as best you can, that your students are prepared for whatever the real world throws at and demands of them.” Kurenai’s hands, like the leaf, come to rest in her lap. “One of those ways is helping them identify their limits…and then helping them to surpass them. They won’t grow if you don’t challenge them. I’ve been warning Kakashi that he may be going too easy on Sakura. He can’t treat her differently just because she’s a girl.” 

_He prob’ly does it ‘cause Sakura makes ‘im think’a Rin_ , thinks Aina. Yet another musing she keeps to herself.

“Asuma has struggled with that sometimes with Ino, though he’s gotten better. Guy’s even better at treating his students equally…although Lee seems to appreciate the exercises he gives them far more than Neji and Tenten do,” notes Kurenai with a wry smile. 

“As for us…Hinata is tough, much tougher than even she thinks she is. But she needs chances to realize and enforce this.” Kurenai briefly clenches her fist in front of her ample chest. “Besides, in a combative situation, you can’t trust an enemy to show compassion for your weaknesses.” 

Mama used to tell her the same thing when they sparred, point blank. Papa, too, albeit in gentler words. _I love you, Kame. Know this…‘cause I’m ‘bout t’ fight you like I don’t._

Then Orochimaru’s honeyed rasp whispers in Aina’s ear, muffling Papa’s words, and she wonders what is actually true and by how much. She hopes Kurenai can’t hear her memory. 

“You gotta chall’nge ‘em t’ make ‘em grow…ah. Ah! Ah, wait! Then how come it’s okay f’r you t’ break Hinata’s bones but it’s not okay f’r _me_ t’ try t’ make ‘er ask Naruto out for a ramen date?” 

A blush dusts Kurenai’s cheeks. “That’s different! She’s clearly not ready for _that_. Hinata will ask him out when she’s ready, not before. Also, you were really out of li– _ahem_.” 

Kurenai can clear her throat all she wants, but it won’t take back her words. Aina’s shoulders droop. 

She had thrust money into a red-faced and sputtering Hinata’s hand and herded her up to a perplexed Naruto, begging her all the while to seize the day because one day they would all die and second chances were too rare to be counted on. And when Kurenai had stepped in to tell her to cut it out, Aina turned her ranting on her, accusing her of setting “a bad example” for Hinata. 

She’d wound up being herded herself to Tsunade’s office for a talking-to of her own, then having to be escorted out by Sakura after she’d started screaming at Tsunade not to fire her ( _Please please don’ take this away fr’m me too!_ ). 

Tsunade, rather than scream back at her as she might have done with anyone else, had thrown up her hands and asked Sakura and Shizune to handle it, unaware of what had happened between Aina and Shizune at the pub the night before. 

She couldn’t remember much of what’d happened after that except for everything doubling before her eyes and hot static drowning out all but a few of the words spoken to her…the ones she could remember spoken by Sakura. 

Unwilling to rehash the argument that had sent Aina here, Kurenai shakes her head, her wavy ink-black hair swishing across her shoulders as it catches some stray sunbeams that rain down through the gaps between the branches. Asuma is surely the lucky one to get to wake up with this woman every morning. “I think we’re getting a bit off-topic. So, you’re saying you and Tsunade have been arguing over her training regimen for Sakura. You think she’s pushing Sakura too hard.” 

Aina musters another stiff nod. Yep. Go with that. 

Kurenai holds up her own chin. “Unfortunately…I’m not sure there’s a whole lot that can be done about that. Tsunade is taking the same approach with Sakura that she took with Shizune. If Shizune’s word is anything to go by. It’s certainly worked! And if Tsunade heals all her wounds afterwards…” 

Aina lies back down on the grass, this time on her left side. “So…that’s it,” she mumbles. “I’m jus’ gonna hafta trust ‘em t’ know what they doin’…” 

Once again, her opinion doesn’t matter. Her feelings don’t matter. Sakura is growing up. And soon she’ll leave her behind to blaze her own trails like everyone else. 

Why did she bother saying anything? 

That’s right. To placate Kurenai, who takes a breath like she wants to say something but pauses to find the right words. “I suspect that’s not all you’re stressing about. You acted off at the pub, too. Especially after Shizune started complaining about her love life. I take it you have some anxieties about your own? You’ve never said anything about them before…”

Two birds land on the fence in front of Aina. Two warbling barn swallows. A male and a female. She can tell the male from the longer forked feathers streaming from his back, the underside of them splashed with white spots. They must have a nest nearby. Mates for life. 

She clutches at her chest. “Well, ah…I reck’n y’know now, then,” she murmurs, daring not to roll over to look at her visitor. “I’m…afraid of bein’ alone f’rever like Shizune said. I b’lieve that’s what you’d call the ‘icin’ on th’ cake.’” 

Kurenai wrinkles her nose. She despises cake. “An apt metaphor.” 

“I–it’s not fair. I can’t stop gettin’ older…an’ I don’ reck’n I c’n change who I am.” 

“Nobody said you had to do either of those things, Kame.” 

“No…no, not quite in that many words…” 

Except the matchmaker, who refused to have any more business with her after Mama had chased her away with a rake. 

“…but nobody had to. I–I’s all Mama really had, don’t you know. After we lost Papa, I mean. I’s th’ only one with ‘er when she…passed on,” she says, swallowing down the lump forming in her throat. 

She was probably the only person alive who cared that much about it, for that matter. Everyone else was too busy preparing for the Chunin Exams to come with her to spread her ashes. Mama hadn’t exactly been the easiest woman to get along with. Aina would almost say everyone else was relieved they’d never have to deal with her again…despite all the food she’d grown for them. 

“Now I’m all by myself…w-what’s th’ point of havin’ all these things if I ain’t got nobody t’ share ‘em with?”

“Don’t you spend a lot of time with the kids from the orphanage? You share a lot with them, and they seem to like you a lot! I know that’s not the same as having a spouse, nor does it take away all the pain of losing a parent…or the loss of Sasuke…but I think that’s pretty remarkable. Plus, you got us at the Academy.” 

The barn swallows hop from board to board, occasionally stopping to preen each other’s feathers. Aina sucks in her lips, an aching tenderness seeping through her that she won’t give voice to. Once more, the grass becomes Mama’s fingers, this time combing through her curls like they used to do after a fight. 

“Ev’n after what I said? T’ Shizune?” 

She can hear the pained smile in Kurenai’s voice. Secondhand embarrassment. She’s been around people enough to figure out what that looks and sounds like. “Well, you did kind of imply she was attracted to the woman who raised her after she lost her uncle. But you just got worked up and said things you didn’t mean. Happens to the best of us. I think Shizune recognizes that, too. I’m sure she’ll forgive you soon–if she hasn’t done it, already.” 

Kurenai’s words drape over her like a thin silk bedsheet in the middle of the night of a blizzard. They’re not as warm or as soft as she might mean them to be…but Aina will wrap herself up tightly in them, anyway. Anything to ward off the cold. 

“It sounds like…what’s really got you down is that everything’s changing. And you don’t know how to cope with it all.” 

A tired smile flickers through Aina’s lips. “Ah…maybe. I never did much take change well. I am a Taurus, don’t you know. Lemme guess…I’m jus’ gonna hafta take that without c’mplaint, too?” That’s exactly what Anko would say. “Sucking it up,” she’d call it. 

“Well, it’s like my dad always said: the only constant in this world is that nothing is constant. Change is inevitable.” 

_Papa done tol’ me that, too. So why’m I still strugglin’…?_

“I can’t tell you what you could or should do with your life going forward. That’s something you have to decide for yourself. But that doesn’t mean you have to bear the stress all by yourself. No matter how strong you might be.” 

_Why not? I gott’n by this long…_

Aina lightly shakes her head. She mustn’t think like that. It shouldn’t matter that this is the first time she can recall that Kurenai’s ever stopped by her farm for a personal visit rather than business–certainly the first time with Aina looking like this. She’s here, now. Isn’t that enough? 

“You just have to say when you need help, okay?” 

Aina finally rolls over to face Kurenai’s beaming face though keeping flat against the sunbaked ground, mostly because the swallows have just now taken to the sky. She ekes out a small smile, a nod, and: “Uh-huh. Yep.”

“And as far as your anxieties about marriage go…don’t give up on it yet! The right person won’t care how old you are once you meet them. They’ll be too busy thanking their lucky stars that they found you. Until then, I’d enjoy your time being single while you still have it. Getting married is a big change in itself, after all.” 

“Hmph. Aha. That’s easy f’r you t’ say. You heard Shizune say it. You got more beauty an’ charm an’ grace an’ wit an’ strength th’n you mus’ know what t’ do with. You c’n pick plum near anybody you want. You’re also lucky…th’ man you want’s been standin’ by you all these years. You’re all set.” 

Aina had never even had a best friend in childhood, never mind a sweetheart. But there’s no need to share that. She’s said too much as it is, yet somehow too little. 

The blush returns to Kurenai’s cheeks as she folds her arms across her chest, her shadowed eyes narrowing. “Hey, hey! No need to start _that_ up again.” 

“Sorry. I jus’…don’ un’erstand why y’all’re so secr’tive ‘bout it. Y’ain’t foolin’ nobody. Not that you hafta try. Ev’rybody likes you an’ supports you bein’ t’gether. Ain’t like your love’s, ah…” 

For a moment, she’s back in front of the Hokage’s mansion with Tsunade wrapped up in her arms, the porch light casting a halo around the latter. Tsunade’s breath is warm on her lips and spritzed with _sake_ , her skin spritzed with her perfume of magnolia and citrus, her cheeks flushed as bright a pink as her lipstick while one deceptively milky-soft hand reaches up to press on Aina’s forehead. To stop her before she can close the tantalizing gap between their mouths. 

“…f’rbidd’n.”

Taking a deep breath, this one a little fuller than the last ones, Aina sits back up again, rubbing her eyes again on her forearm. “Well…shucks. Thanks f’r payin’ me a visit, Kurenai,” she sniffs. “D’you, ah…you wanna come in? Into my house, I mean. I c’n make us some tea.” 

“Oh! Um…I’m sorry, Kame. But I’m afraid I can’t stay. My squad is waiting for me. I was passing by here on the way to meet up with them and thought I should stop to check in, make sure you were okay. If I keep those three waiting for much longer, they’re bound to come looking for me.” 

Aina’s lips drift into a tight line. What was the point of stopping at all if she was just going to go back to her own business? Aina is stuck here with a cold bed and house as silent as a tomb, while Kurenai can carry on with her adoring students and admiring friends and doting hunky boyfriend (fiancé?) and warm bed and stylish house and charmed life…even if she _is_ a shinobi. One of the best in Konoha, at that. 

Her stomach clamps over itself with nausea. 

_I…really am disgusting._

One more thought she will keep tucked at the bottom of her tightening throat, pushed down with another smile. 

“Aha! Would it change your mind if I poured us _sake_ instead’a tea? Or _umeshu_?” 

Kurenai giggles back. “A little more tempting, but no, thank you. Besides, those drinks are too weak for me. You know I prefer _shochu_ and vodka.” 

“Ah, that’s right! Ahaha! How could I f’rget that? I’m so silly! You’re right. You should go. You got a job t’ do, an’ I don’ want Hinata an’ Kiba an’ Shino t’ see me like this.” 

It might be a little too late to worry about appearance, though.

Kurenai quirks an eyebrow. “You sure you’ll be okay here?” 

“Ah, yep. I got ev’rything I really need at th’ moment. I’m jus’…tired.” 

As the women rise together–each helping themselves up–Kurenai adds, “I’ll be sure to touch base with you again when we return. Until then, take it easy for the rest of the day, okay? We all miss you and hope to see you back at work soon.”

How true is that, really? She’s just the janitor cleaning up everyone’s messes at home while they get to go on all the adventures and, as Kurenai likes to say, collect glory like violets. 

She is, at best, a beam under the floor that is the Academy that holds up the house that is the village. Or is that still taking too much credit? 

Never mind. Aina will take the words and bundle herself up in them. 

After a pause, Kurenai reaches over to cup her shoulder, rub the curve of it slightly like she’s testing the temperature. It takes everything in Aina not to melt into the velvety touch…and a little more not to wince at the loss of contact. No one has so much as held her hand since the night she and Tsunade had danced in front of her mansion. 

With a wave of her whole left arm, she chirps, “I’ll be sure t’ have some vodka around when y’come back! Be careful!” 

It has not escaped Aina’s notice that Kurenai had had no assurances to offer regarding Sasuke. Of course, Kurenai is honest. She could not promise he would be back someday with all the doubts she’s had swirling in her own head about him. Only Kakashi’s team, and Tsunade, seem all that convinced that Sasuke will one day return home. 

Hopefully…she can help that along, some. 

Half an hour more of leaning against the trunk of the tree and rubbing her back along it with only the birdsongs for sound, and then a new guest comes winding down one of the low-hanging branches like a ghost. Aina reaches up to catch the small white snake coiling around her wrist. Sitting back down between the roots, she strokes its soft, smooth back with two trembling fingers to soothe her nerves before she starts whispering to it in a language only she, the snake, and the person who had given her the snake can understand. 


	3. New Home

How long has it been since she’d started running? Two days? Three? Four? She chokes on her tears and the stench of her own body as she stares at her haggard reflection in the pond. Minori rests in her lap, tensely munching on the lettuce leaves she’d packed while Aina strokes her shell with two fingers. 

Right now, Minori is the only reason she hasn’t tried to throw herself into that pond. 

Her right forearm stings and itches. Is it infected? She’d look but that would require her to peel off the bandages, currently soaked through with blood, to look at the gash running along it where Masa used to crawl. She can’t look at it. She can’t focus on anything but her surroundings. 

The sun is sinking into the trees again, the sky fading from gold and blue to orange and purple. It will be nighttime, soon. They can’t stay out here for much longer. 

But…where will they go? Where will they live, now? She’s a rogue. 

She could…would he even want her there? He hadn’t been clear on the matter, either way. 

Suddenly, a wordless whisper. Her back tingles with a foreign presence behind her. Hastily, she sets Minori into the grass and picks up her hammer, wincing at the twinge of pain shooting up from her wound. She springs up onto her feet and forces her heavy eyes open to the point of bulging. 

“Wh-who’s there? Y-you come any closer an’ I’ll kill you!” 

She means it. She has no choice but to mean it. The evidence is splattered and dried all over her clothes and hammer. 

The cool sensation of scales trails over her skin when he answers with a soft chuckle from the tree straight ahead of her. “You’re welcome to try, though I doubt you’d succeed.” His star-white form morphs from out of the trunk with the fluidity of the snakes he calls his familiars. 

Aina doesn’t drop her hammer, not quite as happy to see him as she’d been before. This time, he comes to her more like a demon intent on collecting her soul, her debt for the deal they’d made. 

Everything about this makes her wonder if maybe he’d been waiting for her here. 

“Oh. It’s…it’s you. Y–you come t’ kill me?” 

“That depends. Would you _like_ me to kill you? I will if you do…I can see it in your eyes. You’re thinking about dying. It would be the honorable thing to do, wouldn’t it?”

She shivers, just realizing how naked she is in front of him. 

“But it would surely be a waste. And you don’t actually _want_ to die. Do you, dear? If you did, you would have let that boy kill you…instead of the other way around. Or you would have stayed to answer for it, instead of running away after the fact. Look. Even now, your body keeps moving on its own selfish accord.” 

Her grip on the hammer tightens as he strolls up to her. She scoots in front of Minori. 

“You’ve tried living in honor. It didn’t work. It hasn’t worked for a while,” he says with a smirk, coming to a stop just far enough away to avoid her swing. Should she choose to swing at him, that is. 

He puts a hand on his hip. “So now you have a choice to make. I hope you choose wisely.” 

She gulps. It does nothing to quell the dryness in her mouth. “Wha–what _are_ my choices? If I’m gon’ live…where’m I gon’ do it? I’m a criminal, now. Ain’t nobody gonna want me after what I done…” 

He turns his head and glances to her, his blazing yellow eyes piercing the thickening darkness. Slowly he lifts up his right hand, opening it to her as if in offering. “Well…you could come with me.” 

For a moment, her shoulders slacken. Is he serious? It’s hard to tell with him. So help her, he’d better not be joking–

“ _Kukukukuku_ …yes,” he says, answering her question before she even gets the sense to ask it. “I like you. We work well together, and you’ve got potential for so much more. Besides, you did help me out. I don’t like owing favors, so you can also consider it repayment.” 

He hold out both arms, presenting between them what appears to be all respite she could ask for. “I will give you a home, a wage, a purpose…a chance to become stronger. I will give you the freedom to be all who you are and all who you want to be without their judgment.” 

Heat pools in her stomach, empty and in knots from the strain of the past few days. It’s been far too long since any person who was supposed to be her friend has done or said anything so compassionate. That it’s coming from Orochimaru, she decides, is irrelevant. She’ll take his sweet, poisoned words and stitch up her heart with them. 

“I–I don’ wanna impose…”

“Ah. That’s a problem. In my village, it is necessary to impose your will upon others more often than not. Unless, of course, you don’t wish to come with me, after all–” 

_“No!”_

…

Lowering her hammer to her knees, she tucks her chin to her collar. Minori peers up at her from the corner of her blurred vision. “I-I mean…no. I mean yes! I mean, ah…you–you right,” she pants. “I _do_ wanna come with you. Please let–please let me–let _us_. P-promise I’ll be good t’ you. I promise.” 

Her left pinky finger pokes out above the handle. 

He chuckles once more. His ink-black hair, taking on a silvery glow in the shadows, drapes off his shoulder as he turns around. “Very well. Get your turtle and follow me. Oh. Right. Before I forget…hold out your hand. I have something for you.” 

He pulls out something from one of his pockets. Though trembling all over, she does as he requests. He cushions her hand in one of his own–a bit cool for the weather, even if it’s nightfall; cool and smooth enough to send a small jolt down her spine–while the other places a paper package in her palm. Pills. 

She blinks hard at him, her breath hitching in her throat. There’s no reason for him to poison her after he’s just urged her to live and she’s just agreed to go along with him. So what are these?

“You look exhausted. These Food Pills will replenish your chakra and nourish your body. They should help you along enough until we return to my village…though I should warn you, you may feel quite tired afterwards.” 

Aina’s eyes sting. She wants to cry all over again. She barely manages to bite back the next round of sobs. She can cry all she needs to when they’re safe. 

For now, she unwraps the pills and wastes no time devouring them, coughing from deep within her chest as soon as she swallows. They taste more bitter than anything she’s ever eaten in her life. The water he offers her does nothing to wipe the taste clean. Still, she gulps and gulps like a fish suffocating for it, some of it splashing down her burning neck and sticking her shirt to her collar. 

Handing back the canteen with a gasp, she rolls her hammer into her right hand, ignoring the tug of flesh tearing open beneath her bandages enough so she can wipe her eyes dry on her left arm, then her mouth. 

“C-c’mon, Minori. It’s gon’ be okay,” she croaks, kneeling down to pick up her squirming companion and her sack with a hard sniff. “We–we got us a new home.” 


	4. Ketsuekigata

“Ah-ah-ah! No. Not that one. We need a bag with either Type B or Type O blood, remember? We wouldn’t want to kill the subject this early into things. Please read the labels, Aina. That’s what they’re there for.” 

The subject has a name but they do not speak it. They don’t speak any of their names. It’s easier, that way.

Aina raises her shoulders to tuck her neck into them, her ears burning. “Sorry, Kabuto,” she mutters to the cold dark crimson bag before placing it back in the refrigerator. “I’ll check more carefully, next time.” 

“The subject has Type _B_ blood. What you had there is Type _A_. Blood is typed according to the sort of antigens it carries. Introducing an incompatible type can cause an immune reaction that destroys blood cells.” 

“Well, I–I reckon I can understand needin’ th’ same type. But how come Type O works, too?”

“Type O has no antigens. O for zero. You can give it to anyone, but Type O can only receive from its own type.” 

_O. Easy-going. Leaderly. Optimistic. Insensitive. Unpunctual._

Like Kakashi. Asuma. Iruka. Teuchi. Ayame. Sakura. 

“On the other hand, Type AB has both A- and B-antigens. You can give any blood type to someone with Type AB, but it can only give to its own type.” Aina can’t tell if Kabuto is satisfied or annoyed to need to explain all this to her. Either way, she takes a moment to let his words sink in. 

“Ah! So like how people with cert’n blood types get along better than other blood types? Like B’s good with O, an’ A’s good with A?”

Kabuto glances at her from above the paperwork. “I suppose so,” he says coolly, “if you believe in the correspondence between blood type and personality.” He taps the stack together before filing it away. 

Aina pulls out a new blood bag, this time reading the label five times to ensure it is the correct one. **Type B.**

_B. Creative. Passionate. Curious. Selfish. Uncooperative._

Like Might Guy. Naruto. Tsunade. 

As she moves to hand it over to him, a smile comes to her. “Aha. Well, I’m Type A! ‘Cept I keep findin’ myself attracted t’ B-types an’ B-n-A ain’t s’posed t’ get along. Maybe it’s ‘cause I was a B-type in my past life? Or maybe I’m partly B myself?”

Kabuto pushes up his glasses. “You mean AB? No. You were tested for that when you first arrived here. I assure you, your blood type is definitely A.” 

_A. Organized. Earnest. Stubborn. Sensitive. Anxious._

Like Shizune. Anko. Ibiki.

“Is’at right? Ah. Well then, I don’ know how t’ explain it. I’ve also had friends who were Type A like me but we didn’ always get along.” 

He shrugs. “It just goes to show that blood type is only one factor. It isn’t the end-all, be-all for compatibility. Unless we’re talking about transfusions.” He tucks the blood bag into the cart of supplies. 

Aina tilts her head and reaches up to scratch her cheek, only to stop in the nick of time as she remembers she should wash her hands first, as you’re supposed to do after you handle fluids. So she settles on rubbing her forearm along her itchy cheek and tugging on the fingers on her right hand with her left hand as she looks around for the sink. Good gracious! For a Type A, she can be so unfocused! Maybe it’s her nerves? 

“You reckon Orochimaru’s a Type B?”

“That’s _Lord_ Orochimaru. Mind your manners,” he reminds her, calm but firm. 

She sucks in her lips, unused to calling anyone anything but their first names. Long ago, people used to chide her for it, but they had eventually given up when they realized this would not change. “Sorry. I jus’ think he Type B ‘cause he sure acts like it. He’s curious ‘bout ev’rything an’ he’s very creative. Passionate, too.” 

She briefly opens her mouth to mention his selfishness and unpredictability, but she puckers her lips, thinking better of it. She’s getting better with that, at least. Whether Kabuto would find it insulting or not if she did say it, he can’t be so blind as to not see those for himself. Besides, the point isn’t to speak poorly of anyone. 

Kabuto narrows his onyx-black eyes at her, a smirk playing on his lips. “Is that your most educated guess? Well, I’m afraid I can’t confirm one way or the other.” 

If past observations are reliable, that’s an indirect way of saying “Yes.” She thinks it’s rather silly to keep Orochimaru’s blood type confidential–after all, what if Kabuto isn’t around and it becomes important to know it?–but like many things, she will keep this thought to herself. He could just be acting like this because he doesn’t wholly trust her, yet. 

As she locates the sink and heads for it, she pushes down her ache from this and says, “Ha. I reckon I can guess yours, too. I think it’s AB.” 

_AB. Composed. Gifted. Adaptable. Eccentric. Two-faced._

Like Kurenai. 

How are they all doing, now? Do they think of her? Do they all hate her?

“AB? Based on what?” asks Kabuto with a hand on his hip, following her with his eyes. 

Aina presses the pedal on the floor with her foot and scrubs her sudsy hand under the warm stream. “You’re hard t’ understand. It’s plum near like y’got two faces an’ you switch b’tween ‘em.” 

That’s all she’s going to say. The last thing she wants is to upset him enough to make him draw a scalpel, like he’d done when they’d first met in this place. 

“Sasuke’s AB, too, an’ he’s as hard t’ know as you are for th’ same reason. He acts like two people an’ I never know which one I’m gonna get. Not that that’s gonna stop me from tryin’. I’m Type A like you said, which makes me stubborn. Ahaha!” 

Aina stops scrubbing when she notices silence from him. She looks over her shoulder to lock eyes with him. So he’s not going to confirm that, either? No matter. If he doesn’t deny it, then it must be true. It can’t possibly be not true. Kabuto and Sasuke are like two chameleons, changing colors for reasons only they know, while Orochimaru is like a giant wild cobra. She’s not giving up on him, either. 

He turns around and takes the cart. “Heh. If I were you, I’d be careful not to pry _too_ deeply.” Is that a warning or a challenge? She doesn’t know. 

“That’s enough small talk. Now come on. We mustn’t keep the subject waiting any longer.” 

“Ah, right.” She shakes her hands dry as she hurries to catch up to him. 


	5. Buffer

Aina steps into the lab with eyes red and puffy and the skin on her arms and hands scrubbed raw. She keeps her eyes on her sandal-clad feet as she takes her seat by the bench and grabs today’s records. She opens the log but cannot focus on the words. 

On the opposite end of the lab, Orochimaru examines a specimen through a microscope. Though he keeps his eyes fixed on the ocular lenses, his posture does straighten for a second as he hears her feet shuffle across the floor as they would when she carries a heavy load. 

“That you, Kame?” he rasps breezily, like nothing had happened the night before. Like he hadn’t pinned her to the floor and threatened to tear out her throat if she didn’t stop trying to get on top of him. 

“Y–yes,” she mumbles, her voice as small and gray as a mouse huddling at the bottom of her throat. 

…

“I’m, ah…I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry? For what?” 

“F–f’r what I did las’ night. I–I wasn’…I thought…I never…I-I’m not…”

“I know. You meant no harm to me. It appears I’m out of immersion oil. Would you be a dear and pass me another bottle?” 

Aina summons enough nerve to peek at the back of his head, his long silky black hair cascading down his back. It should be tied up. But she can’t find the nerve to say so. 

“Ah…y-yep.” Pushing herself up off the bench with both hands, she rises from her seat with weakened knees, her stomach tied up in so many knots that the mere thought of breakfast tickles a retch from out of her. It takes her a moment to remember what immersion oil looks like as she half-consciously paws at the bottles on the bottom rack of the cabinet. 

Her enfeebled fingers cradle the small bottle, but her feet are frozen in place. Her whole body is feverish, like the heat from her morning shower has seeped into her skin and crystallized along her insides. “You…you want me t’ come over there an’…an’ give you it?” 

“Yes,” he drawls, holding up one hand with beckoning fingers without looking back at her. 

Is he going to chop off her hand? Bite off her face? Tear out her throat, like he’d talked about last night? It’s unlike him to lash out the day after an offense has happened. He attacks like a snake: swift, sharp, on-target with intent to kill. Still, she sidles along the benches lining the right wall like a crab, the bottle clutched in both her trembling hands. 

Only after she’s reached the far end of the bench Orochimaru occupies do they lock eyes. “I’m over here,” he coolly reminds her with narrowed eyes. As if he couldn’t just stretch out his tongue and take it from her. 

“Yep. I…c’n see that. I–I think I’ll jus’ roll th’ bottle on over t’ you.” Setting the bottle on its side, she gives it a push off the tips of her fingers. Her chest clenches as it stops at the midpoint between the two. 

The right corner of Orochimaru’s mouth quirks upward. He sighs, not unlike how a parent would do with an unreasonable child, sending a shiver through her as he gets up from his stool to retrieve the bottle. “I’m not going to bite, Kame. I’m not mad. Can’t you tell? What happened last night was just a silly misunderstanding. Something we can laugh about later. Now let’s move on, shall we?” 

Aina clasps her hands under her chin and sways side to side. The terror seizing her previously melts away like sand in the tide, to be replaced with a new crushing sensation. Like her whole body has become sand being molded between his fingers. 

_Silly?_ _I bared my whole body t’ you…an’ you laughed at me. Firs’ time in my whole life I ask somebody t’ make love with me…an’ you laughed._

For a moment, that very sound echoes between her ears. For that moment, she feels naked again despite being fully clothed, compelling her to cross her arms over her chest. 

“I really thought you liked me,” she murmurs to his feet as he resumes his seat in front of the microscope. 

“I do like you. Just not in that way.” He adds a drop of oil to the slide before twisting the nosepiece to set the highest magnification on the microscope. He peeks into the lenses for a moment or two, then pulls back to jot down a few notes.

“Wh–how come you di’n’ tell me that b’fore? Ain’t it been clear how I’ve felt about you lately? I done asked you t’ marry me maybe two months ago.” 

“Yes, I remember that,” he says, setting the pen within the spine of his notebook. “I recall saying no.” 

“‘Cause marryin’ you wouldn’ make me feel any less sad or any less lonely. That’s what you said. An’ then we spent th’ day makin’ new jutsu. What about ev’ry other…I mean, then…why’d you let me think…?” 

“Oh. You think I led you on? I was only trying to preserve our friendship.” 

“Wh-what’re you talkin’ about?” 

Orochimaru tilts his head, collecting his thoughts. “I cherish our bond. When you found out Tsunade didn’t return your affections, you ended your friendship with her, did you not?” 

His words cut her like a knife smeared with honey. She staggers, propping herself up against the bench with one hand to steady herself. “Now hold on! That’s not what happ’ned! I di’n’ do that! Ts-Tsunade stopped bein’ _my_ friend! Sh-she’s th’ one that said we couldn’ spend time t’gether no more!”

“That may be true. But why do you suppose she did that?” 

Aina gasps. Every thought but one is reduced to static. 

Orochimaru props himself on the bench with an elbow as he rests his chin in his pale hand, yellow serpentine eyes gleaming with venom. Directed at who? “Tsunade has never loved another the way she loved Dan, and she probably never will. But you never would have accepted that. Unlike Jiraiya, who has chased after her for decades, no matter how many times she’s turned him down. He’s convinced himself he’s happy to play her hopeless admirer for the rest of his life to justify his presence in hers, since he’s of little use to her as a protector or anything else. Meanwhile, he tries to slake his thirst by carousing with women bearing a passing resemblance to her. 

“You demanded more. That’s why she kept him…while she pushed you out into the cold.” 

He shrugs slightly. “And perhaps it’s just as well? If she didn’t cut you off…you might have done it to her, instead. Once you realized she would never be yours.”

She turns to face the bench, propping herself up with both hands, now. “S-so…it’s _my_ fault? It’s my fault she left me? An’ it’s my fault you couldn’ tell me th’ truth? ‘Cause I’m that selfish?” 

“Your words, not mine.” 

She stands there leaning against the bench paralyzed by the venom laced in his words. Her hands clench into fists. It’s only after she finds herself about to faint that she remembers to breathe, and even then she can’t seem to get enough air in. It’s as if her lungs have shrunken to sour raisins. 

She wants to tell him he’s wrong…but she can’t. He’s _right_. She’d thought at one time she could pine in silence for eternity–how much simpler would life be, then!–but if that were true, she wouldn’t have tried to kiss Tsunade in front of her house. Or snuck into Orochimaru’s room in nothing but a robe while he’d been finishing up his shower. 

Despite the rawness lingering in her skin, that slimy numbing cold engulfs her once again. 

_I’m…disgusting._

“So…so what? N-now you gonna tell me we can’t be friends no more, neither?” she whispers to the wall, squeezing her watering eyes shut and shaking her head. “I-I mean, if I’m _that_ greedy an’ selfish an’ terrible…”

“Only if that’s what _you_ want. It’s as you said last night. I’ve been telling you from the beginning that you should take whatever you want without reservation or apology. I happen to be what you want. It would be awfully hypocritical of me to get offended by you following my advice.” 

“I…can’t take you ‘gainst your will…” 

“No. But maybe, just maybe, you might be able to sway me yet.” 

Her eyes pop open. She stares back at him, expression washed out with a dim, tired anger she can’t tell is pointed at him, Tsunade, or herself. Maybe all of them? “I been tryna sway you f’r plum near two years, now. I-I know I ain’t th’ best at this…but I got a hard time b’lievin’ you been _that_ oblivious t’ my intentions all this time. If you ain’t got love in you f’r me by now…”

 _Why keep tryin’ anymore?_

Orochimaru tucks back a lock of his hair, gives her that smile that at any other time would fill her stomach with sea foam and lift her heart like a buoy. “Ah, you misunderstand me again. I _do_ love you, Kame. I have seen all your unsavory sides and I love you still. It just isn’t the sort of love that makes me inclined to sleep with you. You can try to content yourself with that…or you can keep trying to seduce me. Either way, I’m not going anywhere. You need me. I’m the only one that gets you. Who else would?” 

The last person to tell her they’d loved her was Mama, on her deathbed. She hadn’t loved her enough to try to stay alive…or had choosing to die been an act of love in itself? Mama had surely meant it to be the latter? 

It’s so strange how one word, one so important to life itself, could mean so many different things, have so many different faces that show themselves in so many different ways. Sometimes it’s cold. Sometimes it cuts or bruises. 

Had Orochimaru said “I love you” at another time–and not everything after that–she might have found it more soothing, a hug one speaks into existence. Now, she wants to curl up into a ball. Not die, exactly. Not today. Maybe turn into a rock? Rocks have no feelings, no desires, no dreams. They don’t bother anyone (at least not on their own), and nothing bothers them. They can’t feel pain or fear or loneliness or anger or despair. Or can they? 

What’s real? What’s not? 

She clutches at her chest, massaging her sternum with her fingertips. “I–I need t’ go outside. I need air. F-fresh air…” 

The broad smile he gives her is a little too easy, given he’s just condemned her. Not that going outside will change much, but unlike a rock, she needs to breathe. “Suit yourself, dear. Oh. Before you leave…could you please pass me the stock ingredients for an SDS-polyacrylamide gel? Since you’re closer to the cabinet. And when you come back in, I’d like you to make a new batch of stock electrophoresis buffer. You’ve surely noticed we are starting to run low.”

Somehow, after a moment more of stiff silence, she’s able to shake enough numbness from out of her body to do as he asks, her joints aching like they’ve filled with rust. She drops off each bottle on the corner of the bench one at a time. She will not come near him. If she does, they might touch. One touch could kill her. 

“I’m over here,” he tells her again, spilling not one drop of patience. 

“Then come up an’ get ‘em,” she croaks, her fingers twitching as she turns away. 


	6. Games

The room is sweltering, like Hell is just a few handfuls of dirt into the ground beneath them. Her twitching, flapping feet lift up off the floor like it’s cooking beneath them. She is an egg–his favorite food–popping and scrambling in a frying pan. 

Aina really shouldn’t have expected any different. The point of this game is to embarrass and humiliate each other as much as possible. Why is she still bothering with this? 

After staring at his pale smirking lips for far too long with her gut in a dozen knots (what is he smirking at? Why is he even _here?_ Shouldn’t he be studying or making up some new forbidden jutsu or some other important business?), she wrings her fingers and mutters, “Can–may I change my choice t’ Truth?” 

“Eh, fine. Truth, then: do you wanna kiss Lord Orochimaru?” 

The hush drops back over the table like a fog. She shouldn’t be that surprised. They’re ninja. Of course they’d pick up on things like this, and lately she’s been getting tired of hiding all her bizarre and inexplicable and ugly parts. She’s wanted to kiss him for well over two years now–almost three. She’s wanted to do more than kiss. Much more. 

But nearly two months ago, he’d crushed everything. Why it had taken him so long and so much for him to tell her no–he couldn’t have possibly been _that_ oblivious, and he surely wasn’t one to spare people’s feelings–she may never understand. All she could do was keep quiet and move on with what dignity she still had. She’s been in this exact place with Tsunade, though she’d never gotten as far with her as she had with him. 

As far as she can tell, no one knows about the stunt she’d pulled that ripped whatever had been growing between them up by the roots. If they did, they’d laugh her all the way into Yomi. 

Then again, they don’t have to know that. Even if she’s sitting away from them and they’ve got their hands around their cups, glasses, and bottles, they’ll strip her naked, regardless. Kabuto leans against the wall just behind his master as a spectator, occasionally nursing sips from his own glass. A wise choice, though he’s not sitting out the game because he’s self-assured enough to miss the ache of needing to belong. She knows him at least a bit better than that. 

She opens her eyes to stare the group down, her hands resting flat across from each other on the sticky table. The flames lick her all over, now. 

Aina squares up her shoulders and takes a slow, deep breath despite the sensation of cinder coating her throat. She blows it out through dried, puckered lips like she’s blowing out a candle. Trying to blow out all the candles surrounding her, even if there’s not enough air in her body to do it. Her fingertips drum against the table. 

“Yep. Yes, I do.” Her answer is soft, hoarse yet pointed. That’s all she has to say about it. It’s all they need to know. “An’ I skip my turn.” 

The snickers bubbling in everyone’s throat stab her like a thousand pins. Only Kabuto and Orochimaru are silent, but she dares not look at either of them. 

“Okay. Who’s going next, then?” 

Everyone seems to skip a breath when Orochimaru raises a pale hand. “I can’t help but notice none of you have given me a chance, yet. I didn’t come to the table just for a drink, you know,” he croons, his voice like tattered silk. 

“Do…you wanna ask somebody next, Lord Orochimaru?” 

Maybe it’s just her, but Aina thinks she can see a collective shiver ripple through the group. A known sadist, Orochimaru can be merciless when given the opportunity. That he’s everyone’s boss means no one really can say no to whatever he comes up with, even if this is just a game. That he has (almost) no shame to speak of makes him formidable as the person being dared. 

“ _Fufufufu_ …a nice offer. But I was thinking more along the lines of one of _you_ asking _me_ Truth or Dare. Anyone care to? Hm?” He tucks a lock of his black hair, now glistening a deep maroon in the candlelight, behind his ear. The same hair she had wished time and again to run through her fingers. A few times in the past, Orochimaru had indulged her by letting her comb it for him. It had been just as smooth and silky as it had appeared. 

But that’s all over, isn’t it? All because she had started asking for more than he could, or would, give her. 

His challenge is met with a tense silence. Daichi, who had been the one to ask Aina for her truth a moment before, lets out a brief, quiet sigh. He cups the nape of his neck like he hasn’t just done something cruel…and not about to do another cruel thing. “A-awright. I guess I’ll go again. Lord Orochimaru…Truth? Or Dare?” 

Orochimaru’s white lips curl into a smirk. “Dare,” he answers with no hesitation. “And do give me a good one.” 

Her heart stops the instant Daichi utters her name at the end of the following: “I…dare you…to kiss Aina.” 

Of course. Of course he’d go there. 

Only Orochimaru breaks the hush that drops back over the group once more with an easy chuckle. “Is that all? How disappointing…”

Like she hadn’t cornered him in his room buck-naked less than two months ago. Like he hadn’t threatened to tear out her throat if she didn’t stop trying to get on top of him. Like nothing at all had happened between them. 

All she can do is sit and stare blankly into his hypnotic yellow eyes, darkened and shimmering like drops of honey pooling around two poison-tipped pins. Despite his chiding, he swims up to her. His left hand cups her cheek–his fingers, soft and smooth like snake scales, earn a helpless twitch from her with their coolness against her feverish skin–while the thumb and pointer finger on his right make a coiling snake of their own to catch her by the chin. Like the hood of a cobra, his hair fans over her eyes, blocking the rest of the world from view. All she can see are those teasing eyes as their lips quietly latch together and he takes her next breath. 

His lips are softer than they have the right to be with all the serrated words that have passed them. There’s no tongue or teeth–a crumb of mercy, if that–but she can still taste a trace of _sake_ on them that will linger on her mouth after he pulls away. 

Tsunade likes _sake_ , too. She had been tipsy, that night they’d danced in front of her mansion. 

Her toes curl under the table, as do her fingers: the left ones in her lap, the right ones next to her glass for all to see. There must be something else on his lips besides fermented rice, because her stomach fills to the brim with foam, pushing her fluttering heart all the way up to her throat–if he wanted to, he could swipe it from out of there with a dart of his tongue–while almost the rest of her body melts in the same way it would in a perfectly drawn bath. 

He breaks the kiss just as she leans forward to return it. Even the laughter boiling around them doesn’t break the spell on her immediately. She sits there still, half-leaning toward him as the warm, tingling numbness caves to the prickly, gnawing heat from before. The suds in her stomach morph into angry jellyfish. 

This has been her first kiss. 

Yes, maybe she _is_ rather old for that to be true (31 years), but it had been true nevertheless. One of the few things she’d still had control over in her life…and he’s just taken that away from her while everyone laughs like he’s just told the funniest joke in human history.

As usual, she’s the last to get it.

 _She_ is the joke. She always has been. 

_You…you di’n’ even_ want _it. You tol’ me so._

 _H-how_ could _you?_

 _You di’n’ even_ want _it._

Their laughter jabs her in her ears and between her ribs like long, rusty nails. The smile returning to his lips swipes across her face like a scalpel blade as he turns away to brush his hair back out of his face and take another sip. Like that was all the kiss had been to him. A sip from his glass. 

For people who like to mock her for her so-called childishness, they can be awfully childish themselves. Just less so in the fun and adorable ways. She has wondered, like in the second before she snaps, if it’s because none of them have really gotten the chance to be children, and therefore grow up. 

Pushing the tears back in her eyes and her bleeding heart back down her tightening throat, fire flashes through her skull. It launches her onto her feet, sending her chair clattering to the floor and the table flipping over off her fingertips, drinks shattering everywhere in bombs of glass and alcohol. Half the group erupts with curses; the other half bursts with more laughter. 

Even Kabuto, who has remained silent all along, stiffens against the wall as she storms past him for the exit, palms over her thundering ears and fingers digging into her curls. 

Is this punishment? For what she did in his room? For Tsunade? For everything?

The air is starless and thick with the smell of the earth before rain. Sasuke has been outside in the dark for some time, practicing his lessons for the day while everyone else drinks and plays games. His blade and the splitting of wood slices through the silence. He never quite was the type to unwind…except, sometimes, with Naruto and Sakura. 

But they’re far away, now. 

Or are _they_ the far ones?

Aina tucks herself into the base of a tree and curls into a ball, her knees bunched up to her chest as she fishes through her pocket for a crystal. Which one? The rose quartz? For healing, communication, and attracting and nurturing love. Romantic love, self-love…unconditional love. 

_All th’ good this done me_ , she thinks, bitterness drenching the first rational thought that breaks through the fever and smoke. Still, she presses the pink stone to her sternum, rubbing deep circles into her flesh with it as she finally lets the sobs boiling in her chest spill into the darkness. It and the other four stones are all she has left of Papa anymore besides her memories. 

Sasuke pauses in the middle of a move. He turns his head in her direction, though she can’t make out if he’s actually looking at her or not. After a moment, he resumes his swinging, leaving her to weep uninterrupted, the smell of the impending rainstorm buried under the smell of salt on her cheeks. He couldn’t help her with this even if he wanted to try. She’s on her own. 

Suppose she always has been? 

Sasuke’s movement is graceful and swift, and deadly if he was aiming at a live enemy, much like the snakes Orochimaru has been teaching him to summon…or the hawks that dive down from the skies for said snakes in the sunlight. 

Or at least it would be if he didn’t keep stopping and starting. Why is he doing that? Because of her? No. All he cares about lately is becoming stronger than Itachi so he can kill him. So he’s said. At best, it’s probably the noise she’s making that distracts him. 

But Aina will not budge from this spot on the ground until she’s good and ready. If her crying is such a big bother to Sasuke, then he can move, instead. Sure enough, he does silently jump farther into the clearing, deeper into the shadows cast by the rocks and trees, for more space and quiet. 

After a time she is unable and unwilling to track, Orochimaru steps out of the entrance just as the silhouettes of clouds roll directly overhead, heavy with rain. They’ll be bursting any moment now, which is probably why Orochimaru bothered to come out here. To fetch his future vessel before he catches his death of cold. She’s just about to rise up to get him herself–not for Orochimaru, for the boy’s own sake–when they lock eyes. His glow more brightly in the natural dark of the night like a cat’s. 

“Oh. There you are,” he comments, his voice cool and dry. It trails along her skin like scales, except this time the scales are spinier. “Quite a mess you made back there.” 

Her whole body clenches briefly at that word, her chest most of all. _Mess_. Like she’d merely pitched a tantrum fit for a toddler. Even if it was…they’ve all acted far worse. Him, included. He just keeps a firmer grasp on it. 

The fist holding the quartz slams into the dirt and grass. “H–how could you?” she asks, her voice wobbling and eroded from tears. “I-I ‘spected that fr’m Daichi an’ all th’ rest…b-but _you?_ I done left you alone jus’ like y’asked. I even said no t’ kissin’ you ‘c-c-cause I r’spected you enough not t’ do it. S-so _why?_ Th-that was my first kiss…you di’n’ even _want_ it…why?”

He tilts his head, one brow raising slightly. “Really? Your first kiss? How…old are you, again?” 

Oh. So he’s going to make fun of her for being an old maid too, now? New Year’s noodles…that’s another term she’s heard people use. 

The first kiss is supposed to be sacred, one’s first act of intimacy…but apparently if you hold onto it for too long, then you’re a pathetic loser. So you’re damned if you wait for true love and damned if you don’t wait for it, just in different ways. She’d thought him to be at least a bit more enlightened than that, but…

“Th–thirty-one. W-why’s’at matter?” she sniffs, furiously wiping her eyes dry on her wrist. “You older’n me an’ you still ain’t married, s-so don’t you dare start on that!” 

His left hand comes to rest on his hip. He lets her last demand go unacknowledged. That would only matter to someone who cares about marriage to start with. Like her. “I suppose it _doesn’t_ matter, really. It’s just…surprising. With the way you came onto me with that stra–”

“What’s _that_ gotta do with anything?” she snaps, the words half-sticking to the roof of her mouth. 

This time, he has no response, witty or otherwise. She doesn’t give him time to come up with one. She has nothing to lose or gain with him, anymore. He’s already seen her naked, after all. Literally and in other ways. 

She staggers back up to face him more squarely, the quartz rolling out of her fingers and resting at her feet as she grips the trunk of the tree. Over yonder, thunder rolls in time to the thunder rolling in her chest, warning them all to get inside soon. She grimaces at the sound, but there’s no stopping the words, muddled with tears and anger and her own accent, gushing from her. 

“I only did that ‘cause I thought _you’d_ like it! Thought it’d help you fin’lly fall in love with me! I really…really…r-really b’lieved we were gettin’ closer. I–I’s gonna give you my first kiss…a-an’ my first time…an’ all th’ other times after that…an’ my whole ‘ntire heart…an’ event’lly my hand in marriage after you changed your mind ‘bout it. I’s gonna give you all’a me…an’ you said no. I don’ know why you took so long t’ say no…why you waited ‘til a-after I done fell in love with you t’ say no…but you said no. A-an’ I lis’ned. An’ I left you alone jus’ like you said. An’ I ain’t said one damn word about it t’ _nobody!_ ” 

Just like she’d promised Tsunade that morning in her office, while the latter washed down some pills for her headache. 

“S-so _why?_ Tell me why’d you kiss me in front’a ev’rybody?” she demands, a fresh wave of tears rolling down her face. “What’d I do t’ d’serve _that?_ ” 

After another pause, he offers a hint of a shrug, the right corner of his mouth curling upward. What drives it upward–amusement, condescension, pity, cruelty, maybe all of these–she can’t tell, anymore. All she knows is he is not who she’d believed and hoped him to be. Perhaps he never had been? 

“It was just a game, Kame. All part of the game.” 

_Game_. The word echoes in her ears like a four-lettered profanity. 

A game. Part of the game. Just a game. 

It had been a game when he’d rescued her. 

It had been a game when they’d shared messages through his snakes. 

All that time spent in the laboratory, creating new jutsu…all part of the game. 

These whole damn past three years of torment and doubt and heartbreak. 

Just a game. 

“You should work on your sense of humor about these things. Holding out for true love’s first kiss…is rather archaic. And silly.” 

“True love is silly…b-but immortality ain’t?” 

“Yes.” The “S” at the end of his reply stretches into a hiss. That’s all he’s got to say to that question. 

So. That’s it. 

A dozen violent impulses surge through her at once in that moment. Throw rocks. Swing at him with a branch. Beat her bare fists on his chest. 

Her nostrils flare. She rattles her head. Her feet stomp and dig into the ground. Her hands clench and unclench into fists. The air turns thick and chilled to the point of burning in her lungs like slush.

But they all combust together and fizzle into the ether. He’s not worth any of them. She’s played into his hands too much already by flipping the table on everyone. Another roll of thunder gives them their last warning, heralding the first drop of rain on her brow. 

“You an’ her…you’re so alike,” she whispers. “How’d I not see it, b’fore…?” 

Tsunade had stopped being Aina’s friend after Aina had tried to kiss her in front of her mansion. But, as far as she knows, at least Tsunade hadn’t felt the need to humiliate her in front of everyone for it. 

She settles on jabbing a finger at his forehead, eyes awash and stinging with new tears. 

“ _Ffffffff_ - _fine_. If that’s how it is…th-then you c’n go play with yourself fr’m now on! ‘C-cause I ain’t playin’ with you no more! An’ you seem t’ like your own comp’ny more th’n you could ever like mine, anyway! So there!” 

The chuckle he covers with the back of his free hand is cold and dismissive. Or he could be laughing at the innuendo she wouldn’t realize she’d made until much later. “Sure, Kame. Whatever you say.” 

He must not believe her. Not that he’s had much reason to. They’ve had more than their fair share of conflict in the past three years–not just over this, but a vast array of things. Sasuke. Kabuto. Anko. The experiments. The Leaf. The Sound itself. But until now, they had all ended the same way: with Aina limping back to him, nothing really resolved. 

That ends tonight, however. Oh, she’ll cry herself to sleep later, her chest heavy with the realization that no one here may ever respect her if they don’t by now while she airs out the cracks and holes in her soul that she’d tried to fill with his presence only to find they’ve grown since she’d met him. Have they grown on their own, or have they grown because he’s taken so much from her and she’s let him? Both, maybe. And the pain will probably be lingering in her bones when she wakes up in the morning. 

But things will surely not be the same again. 

For now, the drizzle before the storm touches them at last, and she listens to him call for Sasuke to come back inside before the weather worsens. Sasuke, sheathing his sword in the distance, only heeds the call because he’s in no mood to get caught in the rain. The drops splash on her skin like stray tears. 

His attention flowing elsewhere, he slips back inside first. She stays far behind him, not out of respect for his position but because she’ll be damned if she has to walk beside him again, never mind in front. Orochimaru probably can’t feel them, such is the armor of scales he’s grown over the years, but her watering eyes burn holes in between his shoulder blades. 

In the meantime, she waits for Sasuke, who lands in front of the entrance with the swiftness and grace of a hawk just as the clouds burst open in earnest, shrouding the forests in a billowing blanket of rain. 

_Ssssssssssssssh…_

It’s as if the earth and sky are telling them all to hush, now. The rain shall be her lullaby, tonight. 

How much had Sasuke caught of their argument? Does it matter? No, not really. He’s the sort to focus on his own business. Usually. 

With a crumpled sigh, Aina fishes through her pockets…to find only four stones are still tucked safely within them. A jolt of fear jumps through her. 

_My quartz! Th’ tree–_

With a turn on her heels, she’s about to charge back out into the downpour to look for it only to come face to face with Sasuke, instead. His mouth is locked in a small straight line and his black eyes are fixed on something along the walls off to their left–real or imaginary, she cannot tell–but he’s got his right hand outstretched to her. Her rose quartz sits in his palm. 

She gasps. 

It’s unlike him, a willful and prideful spirit, to not look people in the eye. From what she’s seen from him, he tends to look away when he becomes overwhelmed, usually by his own emotions–which happens more than he likes to admit. Almost like she might see through to his heart if she peers into his eyes, and he can’t have that. 

Then again, that’s how the Sharingan works. The eye that reflects the heart. That’s what Mikoto, his mama, had told her one day in her kitchen as they made _onigiri_ together with the tomatoes Aina had brought over. It’s not active at the moment, granted, but he does have it. It’s the reason Orochimaru chose him as his next vessel, though not for its ties to the heart. 

“Well? This is your stone, isn’t it?” he asks with a quiet huff. Except for being lowered, his tone is neutral. Not once does he turn to look directly at her. Or the stone, for that matter. He makes a cup around it with his hand but with the way his head is tilted up, it’s like he’s trying to keep it from out of even his peripheral vision. 

The stone _is_ pink. 

Then again, her head aches with her crying. She could be reading meanings into his actions that aren’t there. She’s done too much of that with Orochimaru. 

With a stiff nod of her head and another sniff, she answers, “Ah, y-yep. That’s mine.” She takes it from him, cradling it to her chest in both hands, a liquid warmth like tea trickling through her half-numb body where anger had once flashed. 

“Th-thank you, Sasuke.” 

His hand now empty, he pulls away and steps around her, his eyes instantly fixing straight ahead into the darkness of the hideout. 

“Hn. Take better care of your things, next time.” 


	7. Challenge

“You really should work on your slurring,” he says at last, slicing the silence that had fallen between them. “It makes you difficult to understand.” 

“You heard what I said,” she replies, her voice crumpling into a growl. “You heard me jus’ fine.” 

…

“Oi. How’s ‘bout you look at me when I talk t’ you? M-maybe then you’ll hear it better? P-plus ain’t that th’ r’spectful thing t’ do? That’s what you said.” 

He puts down his scroll before turning around to stare her down, yellow eyes piercing her and the semi-darkness of the room. She’s in the lion’s den, now. Well, the snake’s den, more precisely. Whatever it is, there’s no going back. So she steps forward and forces her arms to stay straight along her sides with a clench of her fists, chest puffed out. Make herself look bigger than she actually feels, as many critters do when facing down a predator. 

How did it ever come to this? 

“I. Chall’nge. You. To. An. Election.” 

An election. The first of its kind, at least for this place. 

Her pulse is roaring in her ears. Can he hear it, too? 

“An election against me. Whatever for?”

“We–we’re gonna ask ev’rybody who _they_ want t’ lead this village. If they want you…or me, n’stead.” 

Something chilly ripples through the room that bends the flames over the candles and borders on killing intent, except it isn’t. Not yet. It’s rare for him to lose his temper that easily. Her body shivers but she dares not move to hug herself. She just plants her feet a bit wider apart, imagining herself as a wall. 

“What makes you so sure they’d choose you? Hm? I’ve seen how you interact with the others. You’re practically the village doormat. You don’t have their respect like I do.”

Either he’s just saying that to get under her skin or he hasn’t been paying as much attention as he should be. Whatever is the thought behind his insults, her fists clench and unclench. She wants to pull out one of her crystals and suck on it, but she can’t. “Yep? If that’s true, then why don’cha give ev’rybody th’ chance t’ say so by votin’ for ya?”

He lifts one hand over his mouth, stifling a noise that she can’t tell is a snarl or a chuckle. “ _You?_ Running the village in _my_ place? And what makes you think _you_ would be any better at it?” 

She takes a deep breath. “I–I don’ know if I’d be _better_ at it. We’re gonna hafta see ‘bout that. I jus’ know things need t’ change ‘round here. But since you ain’t gonna change…an’ I don’ see nobody else comin’ up t’ do it…I reckon I’m gon’ hafta make it happ’n.” 

He narrows his eyes at her. As much as she wants to look away, she does not. She _cannot_. 

“Really. I help you when none of your so-called ‘friends’ come to help. I open my home to you after everyone else abandons you. You wear _my_ clothes. You sleep under _my_ roof. You fill your belly with _my_ food. You waste _my_ time coming up with all kinds of _ridiculous_ jutsu…”

His words stab her through the chest. If he always thought they were that stupid, he could have just said no to helping her make them. And why would he suddenly care about time if he’s immortal? She doesn’t tell him this, however. It’s taking all of her effort just to stand her ground. 

“After all that I’ve done for you, all that I’ve given you…now you want to stand there and talk about how you’d like to throw _me_ out of my own village?” 

She can’t stop herself from wincing at the pain. She rattles her head. “Now wh-who said you were gettin’ thrown out? I didn’t say you were gettin’ thrown out. Ain’t nobody gettin’ thrown out! If I win, you jus’ wouldn’ be in charge no more, that’s all. You’ll have lots more time t’ spend on your research.” 

“Only as much as you would approve, I assume.” 

Her ears burn at the undercurrent of bitterness crawling beneath those words. Why does it feel like she’s stepped on a nerve? Probably because she has. “Well, I…r-reckon so. You’d still get a say ‘cause I want ev’rybody t’ get a say but…yes.” 

Suddenly, he lets loose a chuckle that springs into a cackle that shakes the room and claws at her ribs. “This is because I rejected you, isn’t it? You’re doing this because I wouldn’t–” 

“Ain’t got nothin’ t’ do with my silly feelin’s. You don’ like me that way. N-nobody does. Gotta make peace with that on my own. But this ain’t got nothin’ t’ do with that. This got t’ do with, ah…w-with makin’ this place more like th’ place you promised it’d be.” 

“Hm… _hmhmhmhmhm_ …I don’t think you understand just what it is you’re asking for. What would _you_ know about leading a village?” 

“Not–not ev’rything, b-but I can learn it as I go. Like I done with mos’ ev’rything else. I mean, how ‘bout you? You built this here place from th’ ground up. You di’n’ come from nowhere special too an’ you still did it. Don’ see no reason I can’t do th’ same. Ain’t like _you_ had it all figured out when you started!” 

He lifts a corner of his mouth to flash his sharp teeth at her. “I studied directly under the Third Hokage. What have _you_ got?” 

“W-well…well I been studyin’ _you_. A-an’ all this time I been wond’rin’ why he wouldn’ let you be Hokage after ‘im.” She stomps her foot. “Now I’m seein’ why! You’re _miser’ble!_ An’ n’stead’a doin’ somethin’ about it, you d’cided ev’rybody’s gotta be miser’ble with you! That ain’t what good leaders do! A good leader don’ lie…but a good leader also works hard t’ be better when they _know_ better! Also, you’re too flaky an’ selfish.”

Oh. Now she’s gone and done it. Blanching, she instantly puts up her fists in front of her, anticipating a barrage of snakes to be fired her way. She peeks out at him from above her knuckles. 

“I–I’m sorry. I–that came out wrong…”

“It seems we’re at an impasse,” he comments, his pale expression falling flat. As if he is absorbing whatever hurt her words might have inflicted. After all, that was a long time ago and there’s no way the Great White Snake can be hurt by words. Least of all coming from a bumpkin like herself. Right? 

He folds his arms across his chest. “You want your little election that badly? All right. Let’s make a deal,” he announces, the left corner of his mouth tilting upward in a sinister smirk. “You can have it… _if_ you can beat me in combat.” 

Terror seizes her. Orochimaru, one of Konoha’s legendary Sannin…a candle stands a better chance against the sea than she does against him. 

“I don’ wanna fight you, Orochimaru…I-I wan’ t’ r’solve this peacefully,” she says, her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. 

He laughs. “What did you expect? My dear, when one encroaches on a predator’s territory, of course it will defend it jealously. Surely you’ve learned by now…you can’t challenge someone for their power and _not_ expect a fight.” 

He pulls down an eyelid and she’s already pulling out a knife when the visions assault her eyes and freeze her blood. Visions of blood and scales and fangs sinking into the tender flesh of her neck. Is this what he wants to do to her in the arena? Is he giving her a preview of her own death? 

It’s not as if he hasn’t done this before. She squeezes her eyes shut and musters enough strength to plunge the knife into the hissing snake coiling around her waist…which in reality turns out to be her right thigh. 

In an instant, the pain shooting up from the wound and the warm splash of blood on her skin–her real blood–breaks the sheet of ice that had paralyzed her. Aina stumbles backwards with a grimace, keeping the blood-stained knife held out in front of her as she gasps for air. Compared to the many times he’s broken her heart, this pain is a pinch. 

“I–I ain’t clean’n that up,” she pants, referring to the crimson splatter on the floor. Her heart pounds in her throat and all over her ribs like a trapped bird. “That there’s _your_ mess.” 

“ _Your_ blood,” he deadpans, like she’s only spilled a cup of tea. 

“Wouldn’ta happ’ned if you di’n’ do that–that _thing_ with your eye. C’mpletely unnec’ssary thing. I ain’t clean’n that up. G-go get s’mebody else, make _them_ clean it up. O-or better ‘n’ that… _you_ clean it up.” Blood keeps trickling down her thigh, soaking through her snake-patterned pants. Still, she grips the knife tight in her hand, just in case he comes at her for real. 

It is then that she begins to stagger back out, not once taking her eyes off him. Even as she turns the corner and slips out of the room, she won’t look away.

Where’s Kabuto? Will he even want to help her with her wound? She can’t fight him like this. 

His laughter echoes all the way down the corridor. “Be seeing you in the arena tomorrow morning, then. Ten hundred. Don’t disappoint me, Kame.” 


	8. Chances

One hand trails along the wall as she uses the ridges and grooves digging into her palm to stay grounded. Every step seems to rip apart her back like the knife that had been jammed into it three weeks ago is still lodged in place. Her walking stick seems to clatter a little louder now against the stone floor despite her silence, like she’s a mouse crossing a giant taiko drum in the darkness. 

Everyone will either be in bed or on duty. Kabuto’s been sent away. With Yukimaru. 

_**“You reckon Orochimaru’s a Type B? I jus’ think he Type B ‘cause he sure acts like it. He’s curious ‘bout ev’rything an’ he’s very creative. Passionate, too.”** _

_**“Is that your most educated guess? Well, I’m afraid I can’t confirm one way or the other.”** _

The boy’s shiny purple eyes peer back at her behind her tired, aching ones with the same gentle acceptance they’d had the last time she would see him. Had he known all along all that he was in for? Or had he grown too accustomed to all the adults in his life leaving him to hold a grudge?

Aina stops to swallow a sob lingering at the bottom of her throat. 

_Yukimaru…I’m sorry I couldn’ save you. Please…please f’rgive me._

She would cry still if she had the luxury, but she does not. Her nerves must be roots, rigid and unmoved. This is her only chance. She can’t expect another one will come. 

This will not bring him back. This won’t bring any of them back. 

But maybe…it will save the rest?

_**“Well, I’m Type A! ‘Cept I keep findin’ myself attracted t’ B-types an’ B-n-A ain’t s’posed t’ get along.”** _

_**“You were tested for that when you first arrived here. I assure you, your blood type is definitely A.”** _

Sasuke takes his turn to look back at her in the darkness, eyes black and cold with anger and an insatiable hunger for power. Here in her imagination, it’s the first time he’s looked at her in two months. He’d rather pretend she doesn’t exist, just like he pretends Sakura and Naruto and Kakashi and the Leaf don’t exist. 

Well…for now, he can keep pretending. Who knows if he could fight off Orochimaru’s jutsu? She can’t take that chance. She _won’t_. 

The pain sets all four of her limbs on fire, and every thump of her racing heart sends a new surge of kerosene through her vessels. This fire does not light the way for her. Not that she needs it to. She’s walked down this path far too many times to lose her way, anymore. 

She crosses the threshold expecting arrows or knives to fly at her, but all that greets her in the medicine cabinet is silence. The same kind one would encounter in a tomb. It enfolds her like an overheated blanket washed with chemicals she never wants to smell again, reminds her of how she is still trusted. Because she is loyal and dependable? Or because she’s been too weak and frightened to fight back? Ever since she came back, she can barely walk without her stick, which she now props against the counter as her feet spread apart to support her. How would anyone expect Kame to do what she’s about to do now? 

A third pair of eyes glares at her as she digs through the drawers for some needles and vials. Sharp and gold like a snake’s.

Why had he let her live, even after the fight? So he could torment her some more? Whatever the reason, she can’t afford to spend any more effort trying to figure him out. She’d given him too many chances to walk back on this, had offered her hand in love and friendship until she’d lost track. He’d bitten her every single time, if not literally. 

That night when he’d found her, she’d promised to be good to him. Now she is breaking her promise. But he broke his, first. 

With a snort and a rattle of her head, she shoos him away. He will intimidate her no longer. 

_Mama…Papa…wherever you are now…len’ me your strength!_

Stuffing the vials into her pockets, she grips the wrapped capped drawing needles in her fist and crams them into her pouch before limping for the closet. There should be some bags of saline in there. The kind they use for drug infusions. 

Poisons won’t do a thing, and it’s too risky to break into the blood supply. Kabuto or someone else could notice a bag missing. Her own veins throb with the poison she needs. 

All the while, she strains against the thunder of her own pulse to listen for footsteps and other signs of intruders. Before every corner, she freezes and holds her breath. 

_**“The subject has Type B blood. What you had there is Type A. Blood is typed according to the sort of antigens it carries. Introducing an incompatible type can cause an immune reaction that destroys blood cells.”** _

Keeping her back as stiff as possible–not that it stops the next stab of pain from tearing through her back–she kneels down to place the pouch on her cot and dig out the vials from her pockets. Then, with a breath and a grimace, she takes a seat. Just a moment to numb her pain and stop her hands from shaking, remember why she’s doing this. 

She’s helped Kabuto draw enough blood samples to know how to do it, by now. For a second, she swears she sees his black inscrutable eyes cutting through the darkness just before she lights her lamp. Would he kill her if he found out? Would he care, either way? 

Does it matter, really? No. He’ll never know it, but she’s doing it for him, too. And Anko, and all the other people Orochimaru has hurt. 

No one’s here, she reminds herself again. She’s alone. Suppose she’s always been? She tears open the first wrapper with a ferocity that almost makes her drop the needle. 

_**“We need a bag with either Type B or Type O blood, remember? We wouldn’t want to kill the subject this early into things.”** _

She pauses, squinting into the trembling candlelight, tapping her right arm to look for the vein. She stops to tie her scarf around her arm as tight as she can–one end in her hand, the other in her clenching teeth–not that her blood could use any more pumping than it’s already doing. 

The needle sinks into the crook of her elbow with a pinch that barely registers, like her flesh has turned to butter. The blood pulsing through the tube and dripping into the first vial is dark and dull as ink. 

Is this what her soul looks like, now? 

In seconds, the vial is full. No time to waste on worry. Hurry! On to the next one! 


	9. Needle

“What happened to your arm?” 

Aina keeps her eyes trained on the clear tube of the IV pinched in her fingers as she clears out the bubbles by running the roller valve up to the drip chamber. Just as Kabuto had shown her time and again. The tender skin beneath the bandage tucked in the crook of her right elbow itches in protest, the irritation magnified by the throb of her pulse. 

But she refuses to acknowledge it with her hands or her eyes. She must concentrate on getting this infusion set up and running, and on keeping her back ramrod straight. She’s sitting on a wooden stool. She can’t stand up without her cane, but she needs both hands to do this. 

_Wha’d’you care? You done made it awful clear you don’t._

“Bug bite,” she answers flatly, looking down to hide the grimace that parts her lips as a small spasm tears up her spine. “Scratched it too hard.”

Under other circumstances, she might have stopped to dread the ease at which the lie has slipped out of her. But she’s been rehearsing it ever since conceiving this plan precisely for this moment. _Bug bite. Scratched it too hard. Bug bite. Scratched it too hard. Bug bite. Scratched it too hard._

The simpler the story, the easier to tell it. 

It’s not that far-fetched. Mosquitoes are maddeningly common in this area, piercing uncovered flesh with their needle-like mouths to suck blood. And Aina has always been prone to overdoing things. To bruising and cutting and scraping and hurting herself in her frustrations. 

She traces his cool pale arm with her fingertips as she searches for a good vein. The one she hones in on sticks out against his skin like a frozen road cutting through a barren, snow-laden field. 

He must take her dourness and lack of eye contact for bitter resignation, because he then says, “Depending on how my present condition changes in the coming days, I may have to take Sasuke’s body soon.” He rarely could hold back from opportunities to jab fingers into the open wounds in one’s psyche. 

“What of it?” she grumbles, tying the tourniquet around his arm just above his elbow before checking its tightness by slipping her finger under the knot for a snug fit. It’s tight, but not too tight. 

Normally, Kabuto would be doing this, but he’s not here. He’s away with Guren and Yukimaru. The cramping nausea twisting her stomach warns her she will never see the latter two again. All she can do is pray they’ll get away with just one or two scratches if not none, that Guren will renounce her devotion to their master as Aina has (though she hasn’t said so out loud) and listen to her conscience…or what tattered scraps of conscience she still has after all these years of serving this wretched place. 

She’d probably be out with them instead if it wasn’t for this damn hernia. Then again…maybe it’s better this way? Guren can save Yukimaru…and she can deal with Orochimaru directly while Kabuto is distracted. 

Aina needn’t look up to know he’s smirking. It weaves into his words like a fattened snake through rain-soaked shrubbery. “It’s strange…after all the fuss you’ve kicked up against it over these past few months, you’ve gotten awfully quiet, all of a sudden.”

She pinches the tubing that much harder, rubbing circles into it like she would do with one of her crystals. Lest she end up jabbing him in the arm or elsewhere with the catheter. Her sweating sandal-clad feet tap and dig against the floor. The sooner she can get out of these, the better. He is clad in his own maroon pajamas with white snake prints crawling down the sleeves. 

She presses her fingertip against the skin over his vein, pausing to take in the faint pulse rippling under it before feeling it push back and enlarge. 

Not too long ago, she would have found it comforting to feel his heartbeat–or anyone’s, really. It was rare for her to find chances to get close enough to people to do that. She’d try to will hers to beat in time. Be more like her companion. One can’t feel so alone if their heart beats with someone else’s. 

Now, it pounds up her arm and against her temples like peals of thunder, threatening to tear hers asunder. Although for now, it’s set on devouring Sasuke’s. Their whole relationship, captured in a single touch.

For a flash, she wishes she could tear off the brace squeezing her around her trunk and smother her patient with it. At least smothering would be quicker and less messy than what she’s about to do. Heaven knows she’s done it enough times at this point to be good at it.

But that would require more physical struggle than she’s capable of, at the moment. Besides, this brace, and the cane propped up against the wall to form a right angle with her and him, are two of the few things keeping her mobile lately. She’ll be damned before she lets him cut her open again.

Can he even be smothered at all? He’s thrown up too many snakes and swords and his own body to make that seem possible.

Her shoulders slacken at the sensation of a solid hand on either one of them. Yet there’s no one in this room except her and Orochimaru. 

_Go on, Kame. You doin’ jus’ fine._

That’s what Papa used to say when they trained. She’s not sure if he’d actually approve of this…but the ragged memory of his voice cools her like a balm. She almost can’t feel the hernia in her back. 

“Ain’t no more point in fightin’…whatever’ll be, will be.”

Another thing Papa used to say, mostly when she and Mama disagreed about this or that. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, knitting his eyebrows. 

“Well, it’s jus’, ah…y’seem t’ think Sasuke’s gonna go along with it,” she says, dabbing a cotton ball with alcohol. To disinfect the skin. 

“Heh, don’t be silly. I know better than to believe he’ll give me his body without resistance. He’s always been strong-willed and petulant. It just doesn’t matter in the scheme of things. As long as he gets to kill his brother, he couldn’t care less about his own life.”

“Yep? An’…how’s he gon’ kill ‘im if you take ‘is body?” 

Orochimaru chuckles as if the answer to that question is apparent. “ _I’ll_ kill Itachi, of course. I do keep my promises, you know.” 

_No, you don’t. Maybe_ you _think y’do, but you don’t. You promised me this’d be a place where I could be free t’ be who I am an’ who I wanna be…but you lied._

“With our powers combined, he won’t stand a chance.”

Then again…he hadn’t technically promised she’d be respected for it. She had once again made the mistake of assuming that would be a given. With all the fairy tales she’s learned over the years, she should have known better than to believe a wish made ever comes true the way you would have wanted. 

Suppose this is the price one pays for embracing their true self? But after so much time trying it the other way, the thought strangely does not frighten her as much as it used to. Maybe she’s too tired for fear? 

Has Orochimaru ever noticed the way Sasuke has glowered at him behind his back, lately? It’s not unlike how he’d get in Konoha whenever someone made the mistake of mentioning his brother’s name within his earshot. Are they not the same–cold-blooded killers drunk with power? 

Long ago, she had thought so, too. Now…she’s not so sure. It’s too bad she can’t make Sasuke listen to her about Itachi. And it’s too bad Orochimaru is as hopeless as a snake gazing at stars. A dog with rabies. Mama with cancer. 

“Itachi whooped you, las’ time. What makes you so sure you’ll get ‘im even with Sasuke’s power?” 

Suddenly, the room drops to a chill. A hiss bubbles from the bottom of Orochimaru’s throat, prompting her to look up into his blazing yellow serpentine eyes. Even now, she can’t stop the shiver rippling through her. 

“Careful, Kame. Surely you haven’t already forgotten what happened the last time you challenged me?” 

No. She hasn’t forgotten. The burning raised scar stretching along the right side of her neck from her ear lobe to her collar will not let her. Nor will the gap in her mouth where a top front tooth used to be, giving her a slight lisp she had not had before their duel. 

Nor the lantern she keeps lit in the corner of her room at night like she used to do as a little girl, if the weather doesn’t let her camp outside. She hadn’t had the need to do that in ages, until he’d locked her up in the darkness for ten days after the fact. Punishment, “for insubordination.” Like getting beaten to a bloody pulp while everyone else had stood back and gawked hadn’t been punishment enough.

Why he had spared her that harrowing morning is still a mystery. Maybe it always would be? Aina has surely lost the appetite for answers. 

Aina manages to buck the shiver in her spine with a shrug and a twist of her neck. “Pard’n me. Jus’ makin’ a comm’nt,” she mumbles, re-wetting the cotton swab with alcohol before proceeding to rub circles with it on his forearm. 

People use the word “insane” so often to describe others they don’t agree with–even when they’re merely doing the same things you are–that she’s not sure if the word even has meaning anymore. Like a pair of pants worn down to the unraveling threads. 

Not that anyone would ask her, but she has come to suspect true insanity as doing the same thing in the same way over and over again yet expecting a different result each time. If this is true, then Orochimaru is truly insane. 

Not that she’s any better in that way. Or at least, she hasn’t been. 

“I know you’re unhappy with me,” he croons, resting his chin on the knuckles of his right hand. She is to insert the IV into his left arm, upon which she continues rubbing alcohol perhaps a little longer than she should. She briefly extends her rubbing to the borders of his elbow. 

“Perhaps you’re entertaining a fantasy of stopping me at this very moment? You know you can’t kill me. I’ve already proven I’m far superior in battle, and at this point, I’m immune to most poisons.” 

“Wha’cha takin’ this here medicine for, then? Ain’t ev’rything technic’lly a pois’n in th’ right amount? Ev’n water.”

Anko used to tell her so on those days they spent in her living room fiddling with toxins–more like Anko fiddling with them while Aina watched and asked questions. Kabuto had said this, too. As had Orochimaru himself. Has he ever in his life stopped to listen to his own words? Does he realize how often he contradicts himself? 

Never mind. She’s tired of trying to point him toward the path of redemption. Sasuke’s existence is on the line. 

Orochimaru tilts his head. “The operative phrase is ‘in the right amount,’ dear. I can tolerate high doses of most drugs.” 

“Awright, awright…you done made your point.”

_Don’ break your neck suckin’ on your own tail._

In the two-and-a-half years she’s served in Oto, and even in her years in Konoha prior to that, she’d heard the shinobi use many colorful phrases to describe each other’s flaws and follies. “Sucking on one’s tail” meant that one was talking themselves up too much–although the others would use much ruder words to describe the metaphorical body parts being sucked on. 

It works in Orochimaru’s case. He is a snake, and snakes have tails. A snake eating their own tail is an ouroboros. Maybe he’ll be reincarnated as a snake? No, maybe a humble worm?

“Awright, now hol’ still an’ be quiet. I’m ‘bout t’ put th’ catheter in…”

_Can’t tell if your problem’s that you underestimate ev’rybody ‘round you or that you overestimate yourself. Maybe it’s both? Whatever it is…you a fool. A damn fool._

_You right ‘bout one thing, though. I…I don’ know if this’s gonna work. But I gotta try._

The catheter prepared in her left hand, Aina sets it as flat as she can against his arm, bevel facing up, before she plunges the needle into his flesh–is it actually _his_ flesh?–while keeping his arm steady in her right hand and the tip of her tongue poking out of her mouth in concentration. Another spasm of pain tears up her spine. Her teeth squeeze down on her tongue, threatening to bite it off. 

Dark bluish blood flashes in the hub. She’s hit the vein–and how about that, on the first go-around! 

Somehow, she’s able to gently advance the needle deeper into the vein by a centimeter, Papa’s voice whispering again, _You doin’ jus’ fine._

Keeping pressure on the skin with her right hand, she pulls the needle back by that centimeter and pushes the catheter deeper into the vein with all the tenderness of planting a seed…when what she’s really about to do is cull a weed. The cannula in place, she reaches up to untie the tourniquet and then fasten the catheter in place with dressing over the lower half of the hub. 

_You doin’ jus’ fine._

Once this is done, she holds onto the hub while slowly pulling out the needle completely. She drops the bloodied needle in the red sharps box by Orochimaru’s feet, then gets to work with fixing the end of the tubing into the catheter and taping some of the tubing from further up to Orochimaru’s bicep. 

“There. Now t’ flush out th’ blood in th’ hub…” 

Under other circumstances, she might have stopped to ponder how quiet and invisible the act of taking a life can really be, like the bite of a mosquito. Orochimaru often made a big gory show of it on the field. 

No one will see the blood floating in the saline bag, or in the saline inside the syringe she plunges into the port. This is because the volumes she’d diluted are very small. That’s what she dreads most–after the prospect of getting caught, of course. What if the sample is too small to cause a reaction? 

Only one way to find out…

It’s often said that people with Type A and Type B do not belong together. Their personalities are too different. B (Orochimaru) is wild and selfish. A (Aina) is sensitive and smothering. Aina hadn’t taken the naysaying that seriously until recently. The heart wants what it wants, after all. 

Except now their incompatibility will, hopefully, work in her favor. 

Without getting up from the stool, Aina discards the gloves and scoots it back across the floor with her feet and her weight, grabbing the cane along the way. It’s done. Nothing left to do except wait for something to happen. Or he kicks her out. Whichever comes first. 

Again, they lock eyes. Orochimaru looks terrible, lately. He’s become more sluggish since his confrontation with Naruto, quicker to lose his breath. His hair is losing its sheen, his skin its glow. His markings look more like bruises around his eyes. His cheekbones have sharpened, turning into shards of glass jutting out of his face. 

He’d call it “shedding his skin,” harking back to the ghostly milky-eyed looks of real snakes before they shed. 

But Aina knows better. It’s like watching Mama die all over again. Except this time, it’ll be for the best. That’s why she’s helping it along. The look of thinly veiled anguish on Anko’s face while she grabs at her own neck reminds her. So does the flicker of fear through a crack in Kabuto’s smug veneer, and the sight of Sasuke’s back to her as she lays bleeding in the dirt, blocking Orochimaru’s face from view. 

“What’s the matter? You’ve got nothing left to say?” he asks, the left corner of his mouth curling up to flash some of his sharp teeth. 

“Nope. Jus’ gonna sit ‘ere an’ make sure th’ IV’s workin’. I’ll leave when I hafta,” she grunts, unable to completely hold back the grimace blooming from the next spasm of back pain. 

“Heh-heh…you know you’d be in a lot less pain if only you’d let someone operate on your back. Really, you’re making things harder for yourself than they have to be.” 

_I could say th’ same ‘bout you._

“ _No_. Thank you.”

Actually, she does have a lot more to say. All the words she doesn’t say swirl between her ears and through her chest like trapped hornets. But he wouldn’t listen to any of it. He’s made that loud and clear. So she locks up her throat, squares her shoulders, and sets the cane between her legs, bracing against the wave of fire washing through her. 

Silence falls between them like a landslide. If he can hear the pounding of her heart or the throbbing behind her eyes, he doesn’t say so. 

Later that night, Aina would be sitting on a log outside in the cover of darkness playing with her crystals while the others–the official medics–would hurry to his bedside. That night, his kidneys would falter for the first time in what would turn out to be several in that week. 


End file.
